Photo Booth Fun
by drama fixated
Summary: Slightly AU Draco contemplates while Ginny goes wild taking pictures, and realizes that maybe, maybe, being in photo booths taking pictures like a nut isn't so bad after all.


**Title: **Photo Booth Fun

**Disclaimer: **Harry Potter's not mine, he's all J.K. Rowling's. And I definitely don't intend any copyright infringement, so why bother suing me?

Oh, and Canon cameras don't belong to me; anything to do with Canon belongs to the company itself. Same thing goes for _Circuit City _and _Best Buy_.

**Summary: **(Slightly AU) Draco contemplates while Ginny goes wild taking pictures, and realizes that maybe, maybe, being in photo booths taking pictures like a nut isn't so bad after all. "It's not that I hate photos – they're strictly a Muggle thing. And one thing that a Malfoy definitely does not do is associate himself with Muggles and their strange rituals."

**Warning: **Much sap and corniness galore (so for those of you who can't stomach that sort of thing, you better click the Back button on your browser right now), as well as some OOCness. (Okay, maybe not some – a lot.) Also beware of much nonsensical rambling (on Draco's part) ahead.

There's also some angst/melodramatic stuff. Those with weak stomachs shouldn't venture on, period.

**Rating: **PG-13

**Notes (with a bit of spoilage – skip ahead if you don't like spoiling yourself!):**

w00t, this is the longest Draco/Ginny fic I've written to date. Go me! (grins)

Just so you'd know, Draco's a Death Eater in this fic, so this is one of his "deepest, darkest secrets" that he talks about later on, as well as his parents' deteriorating relationship. Okay, I'll shut it with the spoilers now.

This fic is in Draco's POV. And before I forget, Draco and Ginny are at a Magical Mall that houses not only magical things but also Muggle things. As strange as it sounds.

Anyway, enough of my ramblings! Here begins the fic.

* * *

Whoever invented photography should be hexed, I decide one lovely day. Lucky me, I'm spending it at the mall – and waiting by a – ugh – _photo booth_, no less.

At least, that's what I think.

Not that it matters to a Muggle what a _Malfoy_ thinks. After all, it's all fine and dandy with the lot of 'em to take photos like crazy and stick them in every place they can find.

It's not that I hate photos themselves – they're strictly a Muggle thing. And one thing a Malfoy definitely does not do is associate himself with Muggles and their strange rituals.

And after all, why would they care whether a Malfoy liked their so called fancy and sophisticated contraptions or not? I can't help but crinkle my nose at that.

Unfortunately for me though, my girlfriend, Ginny Weasley, is enamored by photography and cameras. How could the Muggles' foolish machines enchant her so easily, I do not know.

What's so interesting about them? All I see and feel of them is that the cameras are intricately designed, but the designs give me the impression that they were meant to be show offy.

They seem to be saying "Here! Here! Look at me! I'm all fancy and shiny and perfect! Pick me, pick me! I'm the perfect camera you've been looking for! Just see how fine and smooth my surface is, and how clear and brilliant I can take pictures! From far distances, too! And see how cutting edge I am! Everyone wants a camera like me – trust me, you would want a camera like me, too! I'm your only choice – I'm the best!" to me. Like they're _proud_ to be made from the latest technology, and are stylish and convenient – easy to carry around, easy to take pictures with.

The whole thing makes me sick, really. I can't bear to look at them without being reminded of my pompous father who thinks he's all that.

Never thought I would say that, did you? But it's true. I turn my attention back to the hideous flashy cameras that are currently on display right in front of me, complete with a "50 off all Canon cameras!" sign. They _really_ like to rub it in that they are, supposedly, better than me. That's another thing that irks me about Muggle technology.

And the photos . . for Merlin's sake, they're smooth to the touch, but can be stained once I put my fingers on the surface. Which I purposely do. Just to spite Ginny. After all, no one sees a raging redhead about to blow steam out of her ears very often.

And there's the fact that the photos _don_'_t move_. Unlike wizard pictures, Muggle pictures don't capture the motion – they only capture what the unfortunate victims – ahem, subjects – are doing at that very moment when their picture is taken. Never in my life have I seen a still picture; it's a weird feeling to see the image in front of my eyes, but not to see any movement. The pictures are perfectly still, unmoving. If anyone asked me, I'd say that Muggle photos honestly aren't that great.

They're normal – boring. Nothing happens in them. What I see is what I get, in other words. I don't get to see anything else. It's a bit of a letdown, though – all this hype I've heard from Muggles themselves on how "fine" and "advanced" and "cutting edge" their technology is – it's one blown up big lie.

All right, so it's_ more_ than "a bit of a letdown." I was expecting more, what with how the Muggles boast and all about how _advanced _they are. And the only proof they offer me doesn't convince me at all that they _are _advanced.

In fact, it only convinces me more than ever that they're letting their supposed superiority go through their heads. I was expecting more than this . . of course, Ginny would kill me for that if she knew. She doesn't like me slandering people when they don't deserve it – even if they are Muggles.

It's not a bad thing to admit that I was expecting more, right? I expected better than what I'm seeing right now.

But one thing for sure – it's bloody annoying to hear a _FLASH!_ or _POP!_ every waking second I'm not on my guard. Only one good thing has come out of this – Ginny's fascination with photos and the way cameras work – as well as her persistent, unexpected ways of sneaking up on me and managing to get a picture of me – much to my displeasure – has honed my ability to move as soon as she comes near with a blasted camera, waiting to "surprise" me with a fun-filled time of posing for pictures.

We even go to stores like _Circuit City _and _Best Buy_ just to see what the latest models of cameras look like. I wonder how long I can take this – for as long as Ginny's obsession lasts. Even if her fixation annoys me to no end, I'll deal with it, because it makes her happy – and because I love her.

So that's why I do utterly pointless things like this, because I care.

And right now I'm reaching the breaking point with my annoyance.

Curse photography and everything that goes with it. I sigh and check my watch. What amusement does Ginny get out of cameras and glossy photos that never move? I can't help but wonder. Maybe it's something I'll never get.

One time she told me taking pictures is an easy way to remember a certain incident, and plus, it's a good way of capturing memories. That way, in photos, whenever someone were to look at them, they would remember the good times and the bad times they had.

Just by looking at the pictures that captured every memorable and unmemorable moment in that person's life. It makes them feel _real_. But that doesn't make sense to me – why not make a video instead?

A video doesn't take ages to develop – all someone needs is to do is be at a place and instantly capture a memory. Then they're done. And, I had also pointed out, they could also use a quick Photography Speed Spell or Memory Remembrance Charm – easy, convenient, fast. And then they could be on their way to doing other things.

"It's not all that simple, though," Ginny told me after I had voiced my ideas aloud. "Some people want physical proof right in their hands, that they can see with their own eyes. Proof that what they saw and remember in their minds actually _happened_.

"And plus," she went on, "not only are photos easy to take, they're also easy to develop now. In a matter of minutes or hours, whether you took pictures with a digital camera or a regular camera, you can see for yourself what the photos captured that your eyes couldn't – and vice versa."

At that I had smiled crookedly at her. "You mean to say, Ginny, that your eyes can see and capture things that a photo can't? Not that photos can see, but anyway . . ."

She huffed exasperatedly. "Yes," she said, focusing those intense brown eyes of hers on me. "But photographs aren't a bad thing, Draco, really – it's fun looking through albums upon albums of photos, so you can have your memories stored in your heart and your mind forever. And the photos help you remember – as sappy as this sounds, they're actually a part of you."

She paused. "They're not a part of who you _are_, but they make up what you feel about certain things that happened. Photos help you keep your memories, Draco, so you won't ever forget them. Even if you get Alzheimer's, you'll still be able to remember, in your heart, events that changed your life – as well as other people's."

I hadn't replied to that. I decided to let her win this argument, since I knew she was right. Even if the Malfoy pride in me didn't want me to admit it – which it didn't.

I hide a small smile. Funny how my opinion of so many things have changed – all because of Ginny. Unlike some people, she doesn't preach and order me what to do, what to believe, and how to think and behave.

She hasn't even tried to change or redeem me – not that she'd want to do that in the first place. "I'm happy you're yourself and don't change just to make other people feel important, and great as if they'd accomplished something." She had said on our first date. _How long ago had that been_? I wonder vaguely.

"I don't want to change you – or even try to. I'm happy you are who you are," Gin had continued. A blush came over her cheeks. "If you ask me, Draco, you can and never will be anyone else besides Draco Malfoy."

"Of course," I had answered loftily. A small smile flickered over my mouth. "Thanks, Gin."

She had only grinned.

Coming back to earth, I realize, after a quick glance at my watch, that Ginny has been in the – eugh – photo booth for a long while. What's taking her so long to come out of the bloody booth? Or did she leave while I was lost in my thoughts? I look around for any sign of fire engine red hair – and find none.

"Draco?" Oh, for – she was here all the time! She hadn't even left! A flood of relief washes through me, and I force myself to answer. _You can do this_, _Draco_. _Be calm_, _cool_, _collected_. _The bloke who doesn_'_t get affected by anything or anyone _– _except his girlfriend_.

"Yes, Gin?"

She flashes me a seemingly innocent smile. "Do you mind taking a picture in the booth with me?"

"_Me_? Go into one of those accursed –" I wave my hand. "Take a _picture_? In a booth? Have you gone mad, Gin?"

Her eyes narrowed. Bad sign. _Very_bad sign.

"What's wrong with being in a photo?" She asks tightly. "I thought you would _like_ it, Draco. Considering your utter fascination with yourself and all."

Oh, bloody hell. Just my luck.

She's pissed.

"But Gin –" I fight for words. "Malfoys don't associate themselves with anything Muggle, you know that."

"Oh, how -- !" She exclaims, throwing her hands in the air exasperatedly. Then she looks at me with this look, the look that makes me feel like the lowest scum on Earth. A disappointed, "you should know better" look.

I hate those.

"It won't hurt you, Draco," she says. "Anyway – you'll like it. I promise."

"How do I know if you're telling the truth?" I ask.

"Trust me." She enigmatically grins. "You'll see. It'll be quick – please, Draco? Just for me?" Cue the infamous, irresistible Weasley puppy dog eyes.

Is she trying to make me feel like the most horrible man alive? If she is, it's working.

Dammit. I guess I'll have to – for her.

And it might be fun. Maybe.

"It'll only be one photo," Ginny promises.

My eyes narrow, studying her sweet expression.

"Sure about that?"

She beams. "When was I never?"

I also hate it when she "answers" my question with one of her own.

I relent. It's no use trying to argue with her now – and besides, I don't want her to be grumpy with her. Whenever Ginny's grumpy, trust me, it's not pretty. Or pleasant.

"All right," I say finally. "Just know I'm sacrificing my family honor for this."

Her eyes light up, and she pecks me on the cheek. It's a chaste kiss, but it means so much more. Instantly my cheeks flame and I'm forced to duck my head. _Since when did **I**_, _Draco Malfoy_, _blush like a schoolgirl_? I could kick myself for that.

"Let's go already," I say gruffly once my cheeks have cooled down.

Ginny grins again and leads me inside the booth.

"What do we do?" I ask like an idiot once we're in and seated on a rather uncomfortable bench. The booth's small enough so it can fit two to three people without squeezing them in. A camera is built into the wall, below a screen, where I know, thanks to Ginny, the pics are shown. All I can see of the camera is only the lens.

Then I feel the lens zooming in on us, and for a split second I think we're being watched. Ginny squeezes my hand, and I feel twinges of comfort washing over me.

What's wrong with me? It's a _camera_, for Merlin's sake. Why am I quaking like a little coward? A Muggle gadget – why am I so freaked out? Malfoys never freak out – I shake my head, and focus my glare on the camera. It _was_ its fault I was in front of it in the first place.

"Don't Death Glare the camera to death, Draco," Ginny's wry voice breaks my thoughts.

"Very funny, Gin," I answer dryly. I turn back to the camera, pretending that I don't want to thrash it until it breaks in miniscule pieces.

"Smile for the camera, Draco!" Ginny laughs cheekily at me.

I give her a "you better watch it" glare and swivel around again to stare the camera down.

This will surprise those who know me – but to tell the truth, I've always hated having my picture taken. Even with magical cameras that didn't annoyingly _FlASH! _or _POP!_ like the Muggle cameras do, I just _hate_ being in front of a lens that's staring me down; challenging me.

That's how it seems to me – it's challenging me to prove myself, because "_the_ Draco Malfoy would do better. Not you, you pathetic little worm. And you call yourself _Draco Malfoy_?"

It's a bloody wonder I haven't destroyed this camera into microscopic, broken parts yet.

Maybe it's Ginny's influence on me. Maybe the reason why I'm not shattering the blasted camera is because of her – and I don't want to see her unhappy.

An unhappy Ginny makes me feel like I don't deserve her, and instead of a member of a "purebred" aristocratic family, I feel like the worst wench there ever could be. Really, it's a wonder just _how_ Ginny puts up with me.

"I can stand you," She sarcastically comments right now. _When did she get so good at reading my thoughts_? I can't help wondering.

"Easy," she says, seeing the stupefied look on my face. "It's in your eyes."

I stiffen. "Is it that simple to read me?"

"No," Gin says honestly. "Sometimes your eyes cloud over, and I can't figure out what emotions lie within them. Your eyes are like storms, Draco – but they hide what you're feeling. Tumultuous, painful emotions are hidden behind your eyes."

I look at the black curtain that's the entrance to the booth. "You figure so?"

"I _know_ so," she corrects me.

Somehow, even though this should bother me – it doesn't. It doesn't irk me that she knows how to read me most of the time, and that what I hide is too shameful to be shown.

And even if I did show her my deepest, darkest secrets – I knew that Ginny would understand. And she wouldn't try to convince me that it wasn't my fault, and didn't deserve the blame I was inflicting on myself.

Maybe I won't tell her now, what I truly am – but soon I will. Maybe then, I'll truly be understood – because something, an instinct, a hunch – whatever one calls it – tells me that Ginny will understand. And not hate me for what I did in the past and still do in the present.

"Okay, Gin." I say simply. To me, there's nothing more to say. Everything has been spoken already.

A sudden flash startles me out of my reverie. "What -?"

A soft giggle escapes her mouth. "Didn't you notice the camera's already taken our picture twice?"

"_What_?" I exclaim. My eyes glance suspiciously at the lens. _I can_'_t believe I_'_m treating a camera lens as a person_ – _like it_'_s something to be either trusted or distrusted_.

She nods, eyes laughing silently. Her eyes aren't mocking me, I know – they're amused at what they're seeing.

I shake my head and put my arm around her shoulder, drawing her closer to me. I rest my head against hers – Ginny sighs contentedly beside me, her sigh a soft _whoosh_ in the air and clasps one of my hands with hers.

A tingle runs through my body and I force myself to breathe once more. It's amazing the effect she has on me – but I know that underneath my cool façade, I'm dancing with giddy joy that loving a person like Ginny can bring.

I look at the camera, this time not staring it down, and for some reason, I feel my lips twitching up into a smile.

"Smile for the camera, Gin," I say softly under my breath. She hears me, and nods her head. I find myself smiling once more, and before I know it, the camera flashes.

"If it weren't for your hatred for Muggle photography and cameras, Draco, I could've sworn you reluctantly liked them, the way you look in this picture," Ginny manages to say between fits of laughter a few moments later.

We've gotten the photos, all on one single long strip of seemingly endless Dracos and Ginnys blending together into one scowling, smiling, bravura portrait. A portrait of Ginny and me.

I nonchalantly shrug and gaze at her from the corner of my eye. "Actually, Ginny – I don't hate them anymore." I finally say, the words somehow escaping smoothly from my vocal cords.

"You _what_?" She's not pretending to be surprised. "Wha – _why_?" Her words slur in the rush of curiosity that envelops her.

"You heard right." I can't resist a Cheshire Cat like grin. "I have you to thank for it – and you know . . ." I drift off. "The fact that you don't see only what's on the surface; you see the inside, too. You get a glimpse of what I'm hiding behind my eyes. But you know – in a way, you and that camera healed me. I'm still scared and uncertain, totally unMalfoy like – but I feel alive. I can face my secrets and not hide from them." I manage a half smile. "Must be because of the bully camera, eh? And of course, you, Ginny."

She looks at me silently, eyes searching mine. Now I've taken off my mask of cool detachment and exposed everything for her to see. I don't feel vulnerable – just anxious. Anxious on whether she'll think of me as a monster that kills innocent people for no reason, anxious whether she'll be disgusted or sympathetic.

I hope it's not both. I don't need sympathy – to me, it's overrated. And Malfoys never accept pity – because they don't need to be pitied at all.

Even though . . I force myself to admit it, admit it to myself, this Malfoy, me, doesn't need or want pity – I need love. And acceptance. I don't need forgiveness either – it's sickening.

My own parents had taught me that whenever Father was out attending a meeting or summons, and Mother was worried sick for him when there wasn't any word from him.

That had driven them to fight constantly and for their marriage to break. As well as the both of them – they couldn't handle the pressure, the stress, the constant worry. Long ago I had promised myself that the same thing wouldn't happen with me, and I was almost convinced of it.

Almost, before Ginny had come along and shown me how truly wrong I was – even though my parents hadn't loved each other, they still cared deeply for the other person, and that hadn't led them to their breakdowns. Nor had they cared too much.

What had led them to break down were their own insecurities, Ginny had explained to me when we first started dating. "They had insecurities about themselves and about you," She had said quietly. "They worried that they weren't bringing you up properly like they should, they worried that they weren't caring enough for themselves.

"It sounds confusing," she had sheepishly added, "but that's what I think. It's up to you whether I'm wrong or right."

I hadn't said anything, but let my eyes do the talking. My gratitude to her was conveyed in my stormy eyes, and after looking in the depths, she understood.

And as an answer, she had given me a twinkle of her eyes.

I don't know how Ginny got that tuned into people and the way their brain cells work, but somehow, she understands how they feel. It's some acute ability of hers, I think.

Then it hits me – a sudden jolt that goes from my brain straight down to my toes, making me aware of it rushing everywhere in me. I know it, now. I've finally realized the obvious.

What I don't need and want is Ginny's sympathy or disgust; what I want – and need – is her acceptance. Her love for me that was my comfort, and her acceptance of me.

She bittersweetly smiles now. Looking up at me, she smoothes over a floppy strand of my hair and breathes deeply. When she speaks, her voice slightly cracks. "If – If it's my love and acceptance you want, you already have it. And you always will." She takes a deep breath.

"I know you're a Death Eater – but I don't hate you for it. I can't stop you from being one. But I do know this – the longer you let yourself be tormented by guilt and regret, you'll start to believe that only _you_ are responsible for all these deaths. You can't let the guilt consume you, Draco – if you continue like this . . I don't know what I'll do. But I don't want you to lose yourself." She bites her bottom lip.

I know what she means – she doesn't want me to go nutters from all the guilt that's slowly swallowing me whole.

The moment she utters those words my heart just stops beating. I can't think, I can't breathe. Hell, I can't even speak. My throat feels raw and clogged and I'm trying to appear calm and collected, like I always am.

I know she means it. And I can't bring myself to believe her. I _want_ to, I _need _to believe her.

"If you ever want to talk . . I'm always here." Ginny smiles faintly. "And then eventually you won't feel the guilt anymore – because you'll stop blaming yourself for all the deaths you feel responsible for."

I shake my head. "I don't know if that's possible, Gin – I'll have to live with this guilt for the rest of my life. And I'll always blame myself, even if I wasn't the only killer."

She doesn't say anything for a while. "Only if you don't let yourself free from the blame and guilt, you'll never forgive yourself."

"Forgive myself?" I'm puzzled.

"Yes. Then you can live with yourself."

That makes no sense; it's a warped logic. But somehow, somehow – it all fits together. I can't live with myself now because I won't let myself forget what I did – and it's ripping me apart. To make me a fragmented but not completely broken person – I'll have to forgive myself for what I did, and move on. Killing people _is_ my fault, and I'm disgusted by what I do – but . .

I close my eyes. Swirls of color swim before me and I can't think. I'm completely numb. I know the invisible scars that I have will never go away – but they will heal. And they will heal, I realize, only if I forgive myself and make amends for what I did. The only way I could do that was fight for the Light Side.

Because the Dark Side will never win, and if I forgive myself I won't have the darkness consume me any longer.

I open my eyes and draw Ginny close to me. I hug her tightly, never wanting to let go. "Thank you," I can only say, the words coming out in gasps of air. How utterly ungrateful of a Malfoy, but hang it, I can't act cool now! "Thank you, Gin. Thank you – you've saved me from the darkness that was in me."

She shakes her head. "No, you saved yourself. I just –"

This time I shake my head. "No. You saved me. I'll try to forgive myself and correct my mistakes. So . . that means I'm not going to fight for the Dark Side anymore. Even if Voldemort's the most powerful wizard ever known – I'm not going to fight for him."

Shock registers on her face.

"And," I say thoughtfully, "by fighting for the Dark Side – I was letting the darkness envelope me more and more. Until eventually I would no longer exist."

She looks horrified. "Don't say that."

"But it's true, Gin." I answer quietly. "Evil will never let you forgive yourself – it forces you to live and bear with that guilt and regret until you die. And who wants a miserable life?"

"No one, except for the ones who are asking for it," She answers, making me slightly smile.

"It's like you said, Gin – I'll forgive myself, but it will take time." I ruffle her hair, which normally irks her. This time it brings a serene and happy smile to herself. "And only then I can live with myself."

Her mouth lifts up into a tentative smile. "I'm glad, Draco." Then she breaks apart from me and does a curious thing – the photo strip of us that's still in her hand, she tears it right in half.

Separating the scowling pictures from the smiling, "coupley" shots. She hands over a strip to me and I find myself chuckling as I look at it – it's of the shots we took with my arm around her, and our hands clasped.

A soft smile can be seen on my face – the glossy surface nearly deceives me for a second. Is that me, smiling? And with a gentle wisp of a smile on my face? Is that really me? There's no scowl or pinched look anywhere; I'm actually _relaxed_. Quite the opposite from my cool, detached look in the earlier pictures.

It's hard to believe – but the photo has shown me the _real_ me. The real me, who's happy – and not aloof.

Next to me, Ginny chuckles at her own shots. "You're looking so grumpy in the first few, Draco – but, this photo," she taps the one I'm holding by the edges, "it shows the real you. No invisible mask or anything."

I shake my head incredulously. "You get all that from a photo?"

"No, from real life experience, too," She replies, grinning as if there's no tomorrow.

"Ginny!" I shake my head again; this time I'm laughing. I glance over at her shots. "And I suppose the concerned look on your face, and the cheery smile that brightens your eyes, shows the real you, too?"

"Right," She looks at me, a slight blush to her cheeks and a sparkle in her eyes.

"So we'll hang these up on our refrigerator, I take it?" I arch an eyebrow questioningly.

"No, no!" She shakes her head vehemently. "We'll frame them – after all, they're good memories, yes?"

That, I can't deny is right.

It's amazing how photography, a Muggle thing I used to hate, healed my pain – slowly but steadily. And Ginny was always there, honest and supportive whenever I needed her. I'd never would have expected that photography, of all things, was my medicine.

"Yes," I say. "Definitely." That makes her eyes shine more than before, and I find myself instantly drawn to their sparkle.

"Ginny, really, I can't thank you enough – you've been my savior," I smile faintly, "and the only person I trust."

"Besides yourself," she retorts, brown orbs gleaming. I have to laugh at that. "And you'll always be welcome." She tweaks my nose. I can't help but grimace, and she laughs. The most wonderful music to my ears.

She gets a sly look in her eye now. "Say, since you're not hating cameras and being in photos anymore –"

"Do you want to go?" I'm not even suspicious; I know what she wants to do, and I honestly don't mind it at all. And that's not a lie.

Besides, I want to go too.

Shocking, isn't it? It's scary how photography can transform the way you feel and act in a matter of seconds.

"If it's only to take better pictures of ourselves," She retorts, brown eyes gleaming.

I chortle to myself. "If you say so, Gin," I answer. "We'll go a hundred times if we want to."

There's no mistaking that famous Weasley grin. "So what are we waiting for?" Ginny raises an eyebrow.

"Nothing," I answer back, tapping her lightly on the shoulder. "Like you said, what are we waiting for?"

We grin at each other, and run back to the photo booth.

Which is thankfully empty.

As we wait for the camera to flash, I've decided to take back what I said before about the inventor of photography – whoever it is, they don't deserve to be hexed.

They deserve to be rewarded, for not only making me see what was behind the lens that challenged me, but for letting me see my real self.

For letting me see the real Draco Malfoy.

I put my arm around Ginny's shoulder, and we do a familiar pose – my head resting against hers, our hands clasped, small smiles gracing our mouths.

"Smile for the camera, Gin," I say teasingly. For that I get a punch on the shoulder – and an amused shake of the head.

I laugh at that, in spite of myself. And she laughs, too, despite all her unsuccessful efforts not to. Laughter's very contagious between us.

Then in the midst of our laughing, the camera flashes.

_Author_'_s Second Note: This goes out to one of my best friends_,_ **Crystal**_,_ who rocks my socks_._ I also have her to thank for giving me this plot bunny – who would_'_ve thunk that a LJ entry would give me an idea for a fic? Moreover_,_ a D/G fic? ;)_

_This is my present to her_._ Happy birthday_,_ and hope you have a great day! (And hope you liked this _. . )


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